WELCOME TO THE BRITISH PROVINCE OF

Travelling to for a Spanish holiday!

“We‟ve been „ere since 2001, and it‟s “The region of Torevieja is, like, um, Coronation really changed. It were nicer back Street all over again...” Hat, a young Brit then, it were more Spanish...” An ex- employed by a British real estate developer in pat, originally from Yorkshire. , for a very brief period.

SOUTHWARD BOUND

My husband and I decided that we definitely needed a change, so off we set for a fairly southern part of Spain. Forewarned of the British invasion in these parts, we were nonetheless convinced that WE would be able to avoid the tattooed and pierced „lo-cost‟ crowds, we would find real Spanish restaurants serving yummy tapas and rioja, so we blithely booked a little flat in Torrevieja, a bustling seaside metropolis just south of Alicante, itself just south of Valencia.

BLITHE IS THE WORD

Our first surprise came via email with the confirmation of our booking – in English, from England, written by a very friendly Christine who assured us that someone would be there to greet us upon our arrival ... Never mind, thought we, reassured by the photos of very Spanish architecture, and very Spanish-looking cactii and other vegetation around the apartment complex. We‟ll just avoid those Brits, and stick to the natives, and their delicious grilled carnés, paellas and other delicacies.

The photos of the apartment complex were true to form. It was just what we had expected – cactii and all.* What was rather strange though was the very friendly, British-looking person who drove up in a Spanish registered, left-hand drive car. Despite the disguise of the car, I bet myself £1 million that she wouldn‟t sound like a Spanish Conchita, and when she greeted us with a “Hullo, you must be XXX, - have a good trip, did you?” with a strong northern English accent, I knew that the million was mine...

*we chose to ignore the obviously non-Spanish dwarfthat had probably come south for the winter...

LA CANTINA ? EL RESTORANTE ? no, a pub...

Not to be deterred from our Spanish holiday, once settled into our Spanish apartment complete with a view of the sea (distant, but it was definitely the sea !) we went off to explore the surrounding parts. (We decided to avoid the restaurant that was closest to us, El Mirador, [nice Spanish name] as, according to our northern-accented welcome lady, it was run by Brits who did a “very nice Sunday roast...” - for those very reasons. )

First of all, we passed the Cheer‟s Bar which advertised good food, live music, and very cheap, full English breakfasts... amongst others. Not a hint of even a shadow of a tapas. We decided (my significant other being a beer nut) to venture into this non-Spanishy place and walked straight into an English pub, complete with the smell of an English pub, the beer selection of an English pub, loads of British holdiay makers packing away beans and eggs and sausages, and original English personnel... “Hello there, what can we do for you today?” The beer nut ordered a beer, and I stupidly asked if they had anything Spanish. “Spanish?” came the reply. “Sorry love, I don‟t think so. We‟ve got ... “ and she reeled off a surprisingly long list of sweet soft drinks (including Shandy), but nary a sangria or any type of vino tinto... at this point, the tiniest bit of disillusion and doubt crept into my heart...

Beer and glass of sparkling water downed, we continued our exploratory trip. Next down the road was Morgan‟s Bar. It too advertised, in English, all sorts of British sustenance and entertainment, and even had free wifi. The latter sounded very tempting, so we made a mental note of a place that would need visiting later on, or the following morning. SUPERMERCARDO

Having eaten a lovely Spanish meal by the sea (served to us by a lovely Finnish woman, fluent in Spanish - most reassuring!), but surrounded by pink skinned people gorging on toasted cheese sandwiches, sausages and chips, eggs and chips, scampi and chips drowned with the appropriate tea, fizzy drinks or beer, and having strolled off our excess tapas, we headed for a supermarket so as to stock up on Rioja, tortillas, and other Spanish specialties. Inside the supermarket, we heard nothing but English. The stock boys were English, the cashiers seemed to be English, and certainly all the customers were English. (No ordinary supermercado this – it was a smaller, transplanted version of Tesco.) Undaunted, we grabbed a trolley and headed down the aisles. There were a few Spanish items (I think they must have been Spanish for I had no idea what they were and couldn‟t understand the writing) however there were also vast regions in every aisle devoted to very un- Spanish items such as pork pies, salad cream, steak sauce, instant scampi dinners, cheddar cheese, bacon, Branston pickle, baked beans, little molded jellies, golden syrup, Dettol – yes, even the cleaning products were English. By now, those afore-mentioned tiny doubts had burgeoned into mass self-questioning (and my heart had taken up permanent residence somewhere in the region of my feet) – WHY on earth had we come here? WHAT were we thinking? And so on...

BREAKFAST IN SPAIN...

The following morning, the beer nut was really in the mood for a full English breakfast, so off we went. There were so many places offering eggs, bacon, sausages and all the trimmings that it was hard to decide where to stop. Wifi won out, and we settled down to our meal. (nought but Brits in the place...) I ordered coffee, and was horrified when a milky, English-looking beverage was set down beside me. My grumbling was only drowned out by the sound of my significant other doing his own drowning – his breakfast was being drenched with various sauces, ketchups, and other British delicacies.

WHATEVER YOU NEED, YOU CAN GET IT, and you don‟t need to speak a word of Spanish...

A HISTORY LESSON

Off we set, determined to make the most of our stay in Spain. We decided to visit the museum dedicated to Roman ruins, in Carthagena – not a Brit in sight... and I highly recommend the museum, spanking new, tastefully done, extremely interesting ! And an amazing, no-Brits-in-sight Spanish restaurant serving up-beat Spanish food just outside the museum!! Ah, bliss! In we climbed up to the Monastery, and went further yet to the hilltop ruins – no Brits, (not by the sea) but a fabulous view... Off the beaten track, (far from the madding [and maddening] Brits who stuck to the seaside and fell headlong into tourist traps), we also visited the Castillo Santa Barbara, in Alicante – interesting history and where we realized that history does indeed repeat itself, if with a twist...The Castillo had been invaded by, conquered by, taken by and lived in by the Brits for THREE years during the Spanish War of Succession (19th century) until in 1873, the Spaniards decided that enough was enough, and they bombed, and more or less destroyed, their own fort. Booted out the Brits. THE RAIN IN SPAIN !

But now, it would appear that the British reign in Spain is to be supplanted ! A new group of arrivals, the Russians are in the process of doing some colonizing of their own in the . Indeed, billboards proclaiming ваш дом в Испании are flourishing all along the road that runs southwards along the coast. (translate that as “your home in Spain”) The tourist flow from Russia to Spain increased by 19% in 2010 compared to 2008... It might not be long before until borscht, pirozhki and vodka are as common as certain of the above mentioned British delicacies...

So from the Germans along the Costa Brava, the Brits in the Costa Bianca and now the Russians, Spain really will be the place to send our students for a crash course in multi-linguism !! And let‟s face it – they DO have it all – wonderful weather, beautiful beaches, rich historical vestiges, and last but not least, marvellous food – be it British, German, Russian, or even, at a pinch ... Spanish !

ENJOY ! Пользоваться ! DISFRUTEN ! VIEL SPASS !